Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
This guy. I consider him for a long moment. He says the craziest things. Things that shouldn’t feel right and hit me directly in the feels, but they do.
I sense no game with him. No play or deception. If I did, I would have walked back to the hotel if necessary.
In a way, I’ve been sort of kidnapped by this sexy beast, but as freaky as that should be, it’s not. I’m so fucking relaxed here, with him, Tor would be so proud.
After he knocked him out.
His meaty, rough fingers curl around my foot as he starts to rub, making it hard to think, but he’s staring at me with those eyes that seem to be waiting for me to start talking. So I do.
“It’s called Amalfi’s, and it’s three years old. That’s like twenty in human years.” I chuckle. “And it’s aged me a hundred.”
“You don’t look a day over eighty-five,” he offers as he digs his thumbs into that magical spot on the bottom of my foot, making me sigh and my eyes flutter back.
“I’ll let that slide only because you are giving me multiple foot-gasms right now, so I can’t be mad at you.”
“Good. I want to give you all the ‘gasms I can. With whatever body part is available.”
I look through the foliage above, letting the breeze and the moment flow over me before I continue.
“It was a rough start though. My oldest brother, Tor, was my financial backer, since I’d just graduated from culinary school. But I insisted on doing all the business stuff myself. I thought I was ready for anything, but turns out, learning how to keep a sauce from breaking and a soufflé from falling are not the most difficult parts of running your own restaurant.”
I take a break, making sure his eyes haven’t glazed over. They haven’t. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, listening to me and rubbing my foot in lazy circles that have things below my belly button starting to quiver.
“Keep going. I can sit here all day listening to you.”
“Well, first lesson was read the fine print on any contract and do not take anyone’s word for what it says.” I clear my throat, weaving my fingers together and settling them over my stomach.
I’m wearing my bikini bottoms, and Chance tore up one of his white t-shirts to fashion this sort of crude halter top, which makes me feel a little like we’re in a modern retelling of Tarzan and Jane.
“Anyway, so, I signed my first lease. The broker told me the monthly cost and that there were no other fees I’d have to pay.” I make a low, horn blowing sound which makes him smile, then finish, “He lied. There were a ton of other costs. Basically, the monthly rent was half of what it ended up costing. I fucking hate liars. Did I mention that? Hate them. There’s nothing lower than someone that can’t just tell the truth. I mean, you learn that in fucking kindergarten, right?”
He nods, releasing one hand from my foot and running the pads of his fingers up the side of my calf, leaving goosebumps in a trail wherever he touches.
“What’s his name?” His voice lowers, there’s a new tension in his brow.
“Who? The broker guy?”
“Yeah, the broker guy.” He growls. “ What’s his name. I want to look him up.”
“He’s…” I screw up my lips, wondering how to explain. “He’s sort of not alive anymore. I’m not sure what happened. A month after I signed the lease, I found out he was under investigation for fraud and a week later, they found him in an alley. He’d jumped from a five-story window. Landed on a dumpster, then face down on the pavement.”
“I see.” He seems satisfied with that, so I leave off the part about the building where he jumped being the location of one of my brother Cyrus’s weekly poker games.
Coincidence? Probably not. But when it comes to Tor and Cyrus’s protective instincts, I’ve learned not to ask about things I don’t really want to know.
Chance goes back to asking all about my business. Over the next two hours, he coaxes so many details about Amalfi’s out of me, even I’m sick of talking about it.
He’s worked both my feet, and my calves, and it’s been more than incredible, but watching his hard-on grow and strain against the fabric of his boxers has been more than distracting.
I turn things around and ask him about his life. It’s strange how sad it makes me to learn he has no real family. Mine is so loud and incestuously involved in my life, it’s hard to imagine what it would be like if they weren’t around.
He shows little emotion about it all, though. Even the parts that make me wince when I ask about his time in the service. I know he barely scrapes the top of the iceberg in what he shares, but listening to him talk about his past helps me see beyond the rough exterior. It makes sense of the things he said about why he’d never pursued romance or sex before.